


Ties of Blood

by AnnaVarg



Series: The Phoenix and the Griffon [5]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-11
Updated: 2012-09-11
Packaged: 2017-11-14 01:01:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/509649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaVarg/pseuds/AnnaVarg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place after the Legacy DLC and the end of the game. Blood calls to Quinn Hawke and Anders both, and in comforting each other, they find something stronger than nightmares.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ties of Blood

With a gasp, Anders surfaced from the depths of the nightmare. The details slipped from his mind as soon as he drew his aching lungs full of air, but he could guess them: dark depths, darker deeds, and a sickly seductive song directing it all. His skin was covered by a sheen of cold sweat, and his shivering fingers grasped for the warmth he felt at his side. It was still the dark of night, and he didn't mean to wake up Quinn, only warm his hands in his soothing presence, but Quinn was a light sleeper and his eyes blinked open.  
  
"Anders?" He scooted closer, and found Anders's hand without groping around for it. "Oh, love. Not another one?"  
  
"I didn't mean to wake you," Anders whispered, too shaken to raise his voice.  
  
His gaze swept over the room, which was both comfortingly familiar and shockingly strange: it was almost empty, everything either given or sent away. Quinn's mabari lay in front of the cold and dark fireplace, keeping a loyal vigil. It had been Anders's own idea: they needed all the protection they could have, and if that meant having a slobbering and affectionate dog in the bedroom, it was a small price to pay.  
  
Quinn had sneaked his arm around him under the thick quilt, and nuzzled his shoulder, leaning his head on Anders's arm. His soft, curling hair tickled Anders's nose when he turned to look at him. Anders felt his heart settle, warmed by the closeness and the scent of the soap Quinn always used, the spicy sweetness of cinnamon so pervasive it was almost cloying.  
  
"You're going to tell me not to apologise again," Quinn said, deep sympathy turning his voice rumbly, "but Maker, Anders, how can I not?" He pressed warm, dry lips on Anders's jawline. "I took you to the Deep Roads, the one place you told me you _never_ wanted to go. That's genuine Quinn logic at work, that is. I was so elated to see Carver again that I didn't stop and _think_ , and look what happened..."  
  
"You defeated an ancient evil and made even your prickly brother acknowledge your good heart. That what you mean?"  
  
Quinn sighed. "I... Well, _yes_ , I suppose, but I feel just awful, seeing you like this. D'you want to get up, make a cup of tea? Chamomile might do you wonders. I don't think I packed it yet - oh, I did, that's right. But I know where it is."  
  
This was so typical of Quinn. Anders closed his eyes, and pushed back the memory of heartbreak he had seen in those copper eyes when the chantry had blown up, the betrayed trust, the hurt. All the pain he had brought to Quinn's life, Quinn's, who was so kind-hearted and forgiving it should've made the Divine blush in her hypocrisy; all of that was brushed aside, because Anders had drunk tainted blood and now paid the price.  
  
"It'll pass," he managed, throat squeezing shut. He didn't deserve half the love Quinn gave him, freely and without second thought.  
  
"Oh." Quinn sounded deeply unhappy. He tensed in consideration, and then sat up on the bed. His knuckles slid down Anders's bare chest, eliciting a little thrill. "I-I suppose we would've woken up Carver, making tea in the middle of the night. But please, Anders. You know I feel useless if I don't - don't get to _do_ something." He turned his hand around and his palm spread warmth into Anders as he petted him softly, as if he was a restive kitten. "Tell me about it, at least. Ease your heart."  
  
Anders ran his hand over his face. He was weak, too weak to resist Quinn's sweetness. When the warm palm started drawing circles, his eyes sank shut at the feeling. "Maker, no. If I prayed, I'd pray that you never had to know the sort of dreams the Taint produces. The voices..." His voice failed, turning into a shaky gasp instead as Quinn's clever fingers skimmed over a nipple.  
  
"Shh. They're all gone now. We left them underground, and you're right here with me, safe and sound." Quinn was teasing him now, there was no other word for it although he was as well-meaning about it as he was about everything else, his touch light and fleeting. "Concentrate on that, dear heart. Concentrate on _my_ voice."

And Anders did; he surrendered to the low, soothing voice that had never spoken an unkind word to him, and the sweet melody Quinn's fingers sent down his nerves. It sang in his heart, and it spoke of love that was too vast to ever be earned: all Anders could do was accept it, feel humbled by it and be swept away by it.  
  
"Goodness. You are concentrating quite nicely, I think," Quinn said, a line that might've been a sly come-on from anyone else, but Anders knew Quinn gave him these little seductive observations entirely innocently.  
  
His back bowed; Quinn was tickling his fingers down his ribs and his side, and when they reached his hip, a keening moan spilled from Anders's lips. Oh, Quinn. He knew him so well, every inch of him.  
  
"That's perfectly lovely noise you are making, my love," Quinn said, lowering his affectionate voice until it was barely a whisper, "but, and I hate to point this out, louder than that, and we might wake up Carver, midnight tea or no tea, if you get my meaning."  
  
He was prattling, bless him, a sign that he was about to do something he was nervous about or just _felt_ a lot about. Either way, Anders felt his skin electrify with anticipation. "Sorry," he said, his words breathy. "I'll try to contain myself, but, _Maker_ , Quinn--"  
  
Quinn hummed, pleased, and bent down. His warm mouth flicked over Anders's nipple, then pressed closer, until the flat of his tongue rubbed the hardening nub in slow circles. His lips closed around it, and he sucked gently, without hurry, until Anders's hips ground against the mattress. To think that he had been Quinn's first lover. Quinn took the time to learn everything by heart, and could be adorably bashful and nervous about certain things, but once he mastered them, he was unstoppable.  
  
A warm, dry palm closed around his burning erection, and Anders opened his mouth to beg. Quinn kissed the words from his mouth, leaning one arm against the bed, his hand stroking back Anders's hair. His other hand moved in a steady rhythm, giving Anders gentle tugs that were meant to tantalise rather than offer release.  
  
"Oh, holy Andraste," Quinn breathed against his lips before kissing him again, "you feel so _wonderful_ , Anders, all velvety and hard for me."  
  
He tilted his head to deepen the next kiss, and his fingers rubbed over the head of Anders's cock, which was already slick with arousal. Anders felt pleasure sink to the pit of his stomach, and lower, and when Quinn ended the kiss, he panted, his vision swimming.  
  
Quinn's eyes were achingly kind, half-lidded and fixed on him. "I have an urge in me to lick you some more," he whispered, and it was a question, the slight tremble made it clear.  
  
It was so endearingly clumsy that Anders had to laugh, even though the surge of want and love within him made his hands unsteady when he touched Quinn's face. "You and your mabari, you're exactly the same."  
  
Quinn took it well, he always did, although he blushed all the way down to his freckled shoulders and his hand rested on Anders's hip. "Well, he's right there, if you'd rather have him lick you; I'm sure he wouldn't object--"  
  
Anders pulled him down for a kiss that quickly grew into a breathy clash of teeth and tongues, both of them too anxious to settle into it, and eventually Quinn withdrew.  
  
"That - that'll be me, then, rather than my dog, I gather," he mumbled, swallowing half of each word, and tipped Anders's head back in order to kiss his throat, licking a line down the hollow, and Anders would've said something agreeable but appeared to have forgotten the meaning of common words. The only sounds that left his mouth were guttural moans as all resistance melted away within him.  
  
Quinn's hands scraped down Anders's chest as he scooted towards the end of the bed, and burning need made Anders's back arch and his legs spread further apart, trapping Quinn between them. Quinn stroked a line up the back of his thigh, which made him squirm, and kissed his navel wetly, which tickled and was _such_ a Quinn thing to do, but then his hand closed around Anders's shaft, and he stopped teasing.

The first lick was a long stroke from the root to the tip, and Anders fought not to flex his hips and thrust his cock into the warmth of Quinn's mouth, which was hovering so close, giving little licks along the slit. Then his wish was granted, and Quinn's lips closed under the ridge of the glans, rubbing against it maddeningly as he started to suck, his tongue laving the tip.  
  
Anders scrambled up enough to be able to watch him; there were few things as enticing as watching someone sucking his cock, watching _Quinn_ doing it, his dear, bumbling Quinn. How timid he had been about it at first; now there was no hesitation, and his mouth sucked him in further, so hungry and eager to please...  
  
Just when Anders felt himself starting to tense up, losing himself in the amazing feeling, Quinn pulled back with a sticky noise. He licked his lips as his dewy eyes met Anders's, and Anders almost came then and there. Did Quinn have any idea what that did to him? Probably not. His tempting, lovely Quinn.  
  
"Warn me?" Quinn gave him a playful lick, and smiled as sweetly as could be, and Anders's heart skipped in his chest. All he could do was nod, hushed by feeling, and then Quinn's mouth was driving him out of his mind again, hot and wet around his burning length, tongue pressing against just the right places.  
  
The wave of pleasure rose ever higher, and finally all he could do was fumble around, grasping at Quinn's arm and hand, trying to tell him that he was coming, coming so hard. Quinn made a noise of acknowledgement that vibrated around Anders's cock, and that was the last straw. Anders's hips bucked, and his muscles went tight as he climaxed, his cock spurting his seed into Quinn's mouth, into his throat, and Quinn never stopped sucking, drinking him in.  
  
When he managed to get his eyes open, Anders was met by a sight that made him twitch with the need to come all over again.  
  
Quinn looked up, wiping spilt seed from his chin and licking it off his hand. He smiled fondly, but then became aware that he was stared at, and his eyes widened, questioningly. "What is it?" he asked. "Did I do something wrong?"  
  
Anders fought to master his vocabulary again. "You... That is so incredibly _sexy_ , d'you know that?"  
  
"Well, I know now, I think," Quinn said, relaxing, his tongue continuing to lap up the rest. "I just like the taste of you. Thank you for sharing, I guess I should say? Mind you, it didn't look like you had such a bad time at it, either--"  
  
"Come here," Anders whispered, and reached out for him, because he had to kiss that lovely babbling mouth right _now_ or he would... He didn't know what. Explode, possibly. Melt into a puddle.

Quinn made a happy little sound, and acquiesced, straddling him as he crawled on top of him. Anders wrapped his arms tightly around him as they kissed, and tasted himself on Quinn's gently lapping tongue.  
  
He didn't know if there had truly once been a Golden City, but if there had been, it must've been full of the sort of feeling blossoming in him now, and if that was the case, he couldn't fault the magisters for yearning to dwell in it.  
  
Quinn dropped one more kiss on the tip of Anders's nose - what was it with him and kissing every bit of Anders he saw? - and smiled tenderly, pushing Anders's hair back with both hands. "Mmm. Do you think you could sleep now, and not have any more bad dreams?"  
  
"I'm tempted to say no, just to see what you'll do next," Anders said around a breathy laugh. Maker, but he loved Quinn. He was utterly unworthy of him, but he loved him to death.  
  
"I'll get up and make you chamomile tea." Quinn kissed him once more, and slipped onto his side, snuggling close. Anders could feel Quinn's cock pressing against him, half-erect, but Quinn pulled up the quilt and settled in, making no comment about it.  
  
To be honest, Anders's limbs weighed a ton each, and as the pleasure melted into contentment, his eyes started to slip closed. He made a note to pay Quinn back with interest, but they did need their sleep. They would be leaving Kirkwall the next day, and he knew the parting wouldn't be easy to Quinn, especially because Carver would be going in the opposite direction, to Ansburg.  
  
He threw his arm over Quinn, amazed at how they fit together, like two puzzle pieces. "Sleep well, my love," he mumbled into Quinn's tawny hair.  
  
"You, too." Quinn's hold tightened, and Anders could feel his steady heartbeat, could hear his deep, contented breaths as he drifted asleep.  
  
There was no sweeter sound to lull him to sleep, and he closed his eyes and let it do just that.

\-----------------

Anders woke up alone, feeling well-rested and well-loved. The curtains were still drawn, but early morning sun flickered through them. He sat up and yawned, rubbing his eyes. Quinn and his dog were both gone, but when he looked around in the empty room, he noticed there was a cup of tea on the writing desk (the one piece of furniture, in addition to the bed, that was left). He padded over to it, finding his breeches and pulling them on. There was a folded over note leaning against the cup. Quinn's precise, loopy handwriting was immediately recognisable.  
  
 _Good morning, sleepyhead! Join us in the dining room when you've got your eyes open. Sorry we started breakfast without you, but Carver wanted an early start.  
  
P.S. Not chamomile.  
  
P.P.S. Warm up with magic._  
  
Before he knew it, he was smiling like an idiot. Only Quinn would leave a note when he went downstairs. The tea smelled delicious, and the cup was still very warm to his touch, so it couldn't have sat there for long. Anders drank the tea, and found his under-shirt, tucking the hem into his breeches. He did not bother with other clothes just yet. He would have to wear them for a while, anyway.  
  
When he walked down the stairs, bare feet hardly making a sound, he heard soft conversation from the dining room. Anders didn't mean to eavesdrop, but when he approached the door, just open enough to let out the familiar smell of breakfast, he heard his own name and froze.  
  
"I'm not telling you to make him surrender to the chantry," Carver said, sounding annoyed, as if explaining something to a particularly thick and wilful child, "but what's wrong with Ansburg? He's a Warden for _life_ , whether he likes it or not."  
  
"I don't think he does, Carver." Quinn sighed. Plates clattered. "I know you think punishments are important. I think that's not the point. I think learning is better; taking responsibility. And that can be done away from Kirkwall, where even the Carta is after us. That can be done with _me_. You see what I mean, don't you? Please say you do."  
  
Carver was silent for a moment. "...You've always been too soft," he mumbled finally, almost too quietly for Anders to hear.  
  
"I know. Oh, Carver, you don't know how horrible I've felt, seeing you shoulder all the hard decisions. You went to Ostagar, and to the Wardens. I'm your big brother, I should have _protected_ you--"  
  
"No! Father always protected me, and mother, too - they thought I couldn't _handle_ it, not like you, their precious magic-wielding first-born--"  
  
"Carver, please--"  
  
The table was struck so forcefully even Anders jumped. "Well, guess what? I've made my own decisions and, and I can stand by them. I'm a Grey Warden, Quinn, and unlike your half-mad lover I can _handle_ it. I'm proud of it, and I'm going to do my duty. I may not have had much choice in becoming a Warden, but this is my life, and - and - I'll live it!"  
  
He seemed to have reached the end of his rant, breathing hard. Quinn's kind, patient voice finally broke the silence.  
  
"Carver, I've never doubted your courage. We're so very different, you and I, and we'll probably never see eye to eye, not about everything. But please, don't mistake it for condescension when I say I wish I could've done better by you. You and Beth. And mother."  
  
Quinn's voice wavered and failed him, and Anders almost rushed into the room to hold him, so crestfallen he sounded. Carver said nothing in reply, but Anders could hear him take a deep breath. Emotions were running high, he could feel it all the way to the hall.  
  
There were footsteps; Quinn probably walked over to Carver. "I'll leave the fighting to you. You can handle it; as for myself, I - I don't know. There's been so much death, so much destruction." He paused, then went on, voice hushed, "I've done all I can in Kirkwall. I tried, I swear I did my best. But I need to protect Anders, he's my _heart_ and I..."  
  
Carver made an uncomfortable noise. "Look, Quinn... Please don't start crying or anything, save that for when I'm gone--"

"I'm fine, I'm fine. I just want you to understand. I would do _anything_ to keep you and Anders safe, anything - I swear to the Maker. I owe it to you to do my best. Don't you see that's a kind of duty, too?"  
  
"...I guess," Carver agreed, reluctantly, but there was no insincerity in his voice. "It... makes more sense to me when you put it like that. You know, the more I hear you talk, the more you sound like father. He could make sense of everything."  
  
The plates clattered again, sharply, and Anders took a hasty sidestep from the doorway, because he heard Quinn walking towards the door. "Goodness, we're blathering away while the morning turns to day. I'll go get cleaned up; finish your breakfast and I'll walk you to the city gates. Hopefully Anders will be awake by then."  
  
Anders could hardly hide anywhere, and when Quinn walked into the hall, he saw him immediately and stopped, eyes wide with surprise.  
  
"Morning," Anders said, and tried to look like he didn't feel guilty for eavesdropping. "Thank you for the tea, love."  
  
Quinn's eyes may have been red-rimmed, but his smile was sincere. "Oh, you're up." He leaned in for a quick kiss, but pulled away then. "Did I scrape you? I probably did. I'll go shave. I swear, I've had a beard for so long that I've forgotten how to shave it off and keep it off."  
  
Anders frowned in worry, grasping Quinn's arm to keep him close. "Are you--"  
  
"Carver's in a hurry," Quinn said apologetically, and pressed one more warm kiss on his cheek. "Have some porridge. I don't think I burnt it too badly."  
  
He wriggled out of Anders's arms, and was gone before Anders could manage to get another word out of his mouth. He was left staring helplessly after his sweet lover, who was so clearly upset, and so determined not to show it.  
  
Carver joined him in the doorway, wearing most of his Warden armour, only the heaviest plates missing. His dark, straight hair, so different from his brother's, was tousled, and his mouth was full of apple. They exchanged awkward nods.

"Half-mad, huh?" Anders could have made it a quip, teased Carver, but he couldn't bring himself to do it; couldn't bring himself to _disagree_. He had a spirit within him, a spirit his own hatred had all but turned into a demon. He wasn't what Quinn deserved, and he couldn't resent Carver for being suspicious.  
  
Carver scoffed, as if to say, "well, aren't you?", and took another bite of his apple. His eyes followed the same path as Anders's. He swallowed and leaned against the door frame. "You do know why he grew that beard in the first place?"  
  
"Tell me?"  
  
"Because our father had a beard. Quinn was always trying to... imitate him, emulate him, I don't know what. He never said as much, but I could tell."  
  
It made all too much sense. Every time Quinn had mentioned his father, he had spoken of him like he was somehow larger than life, an impeccable authority figure who may have passed away but was never far from Quinn's mind. Anders couldn't fully appreciate such sense of loyalty to family - his own was a distant memory - but now that he thought about it, he realised it was what guided Quinn, had guided him ever since they had first met. All his talk about wanting a family of his own; it was about carrying on a legacy, following in the footsteps of his dear parents.  
  
"Look after him," Carver suddenly blurted out, making Anders startle. The young Warden folded his arms over his chest and regarded him, his eyes steely and narrowed. "My wishy-washy brother's too trusting and his mind wanders. I don't know what good you can do, but stick with him, will you?"  
  
"I don't know either," Anders admitted, "but I promise you, Carver, I'll do my best to be worthy of him."  
  
"Keep your promises. I don't need the word of a madman." Carver's jaw tightened, and for a moment, Anders thought he could glimpse uncertainty, even sympathy in his eyes. "We both know what it's like to live with death. I don't think Quinn can cope with it, not on his own. So _stay_ with him."  
  
It was a heartfelt plea as much as it was a command, and Anders felt humbled by it. "I could no more leave him than I could leave my own heart."  
  
"Spare me," Carver muttered, and finished his apple, but clapped Anders on his shoulder when he walked past him. "I won't mention you when I give my report in Ansburg. Quinn doesn't need the trouble."  
  
As Warden goodbyes went, it was more than kind, and almost felt like a blessing.

\-----------------

Anders had thought that out of everything involved in leaving Kirkwall, Quinn found it hardest to send his precious book and scroll collection for safe-keeping. He had caught him staring forlornly at emptying shelves on more than one occasion. Cousin Charade had some trickster to her, but when she gave her solemn word that she would keep Quinn's biggest and most precious tomes safe for him, it was hard not to trust her - neither of them had much family left, and they held on to what they had. Most books Quinn gave away as going-away presents (Isabela seemed the most bemused upon receiving an illustrated copy of Gaston Gerrault's _Adventures of the Black Fox_ ), and seemed perfectly happy to part with them, but agonising over which ones he could take with him took so much time it turned out to be almost all the packing he did in the end.  
  
Anders had thought that was the hardest part. But when they made their last stop before leaving Kirkwall for good, and knocked on the door of the orphanage run by Ines, a serene Fereldan lady determined to show Lowtown pickpockets a better way, he knew he had been wrong. It was still quite early, but all the children were either awake or quickly roused from their beds, and gathered around them in no time at all, talking and climbing over each other. Steafan, being the unstoppable bundle of energy he was, fought his way to Quinn first, and having succeeded in getting a tight hug, held onto him with all four limbs and refused to be put down.  
  
"Why do you have to leave?" he demanded, and the other children joined in, becoming a distraught choir.  
  
"Why, Quinn?"  
  
"Don't leave us!"  
  
"Is your dog going to leave, too?"  
  
"And Anders?"  
  
"Who's going to make magic pictures for us?"  
  
"Can't you stay here with Mistress Ines, too?"  
  
Quinn stroked the boy's messy hair, and murmured comforting half-words until his grip on Quinn slackened. "Don't worry," he said to all the children, in that reassuring rumble that made frightened cats climb down from trees, "I'll be back one day to see you again, and then you can tell me all the things I missed. Think of all the stories we'll have to tell each other! And I've got something for you that will help you pass the time until then."  
  
He turned to look at Anders, who took the book out of Quinn's bag and handed it to him. Steafan's eyes widened as he stared at the huge, leather-bound tome, its name faintly glowing with gold-leaf in the middle of elaborate drawings of twisting vines and the mythical beasts lurking among them.  
  
Quinn offered it to him, smiling. "Go on, take it. Careful, it's heavy."  
  
The boy frowned in concentration. "'The... Tahl-Tales of... of...'"  
  
"'Tales of Daring and Yarns of Wonder'," one of the oldest orphans, Annalyn, finished, smiling proudly. "It's pretty! Let me see!"  
  
Steafan sat down, crossing his legs and balancing the book on them, but Quinn gently stopped him before he could open the book.  
  
"Not just yet. There's something special between each page, so don't open the book before it's story time."  
  
"Can it be story time now?" Steafan's little sister Maura asked, hopefully, and jumped up and down in front of Anders, arms outstretched, until he scooped her up.  
  
The other children enthusiastically agreed that it should be story time immediately, and Anders and Quinn ended up staying for two stories longer than they had intended. Or perhaps Quinn had intended it all along; Anders couldn't tell. He saw how much pleasure Quinn drew from giving these orphaned children little moments of happiness, listening to them and teaching them in turn. It was part of what made him such a good Champion - helping others came as naturally to him as breathing. Anders didn't know how long it had taken him to infuse every page of the huge storybook with magic, so that the illustrations jumped to life as soon as a page was turned, and he had probably had Sandal help him finish it, but to Quinn, it was just something he did without question. Whole Thedas might be on the brink of war, and his own life might be in danger every day he lingered in Kirkwall, but he would still take the time to make a dozen orphans smile in wonder.

Anders felt his throat tighten as he thought how much different Quinn's life could have been without him; the children clamouring to sit on his shoulders or in his lap could have been his own blood. He kept quiet, and obediently created anything the children wanted out of magic, from flying griffons to tiny fairy princesses. When Quinn told them their last story about the legend of the fire bird, Steafan, usually crazy about griffons, only wanted to see phoenixes, fiery and wise.  
  
Ines finally came in to shoo the children to their chores, seeing the way the sun climbed higher in the sky and Anders grew more anxious.  
  
"But why do you have to go?" Maura asked, fidgeting. "Why must you leave, like my other dad did?"  
  
Little Lydia looked up from the linens she was helping to fold. "Stay with us and be our dads! Please!"  
  
Anders saw the way Quinn slumped, and laid his hand on his shoulder, wanting him to know he was there. Quinn reached up to hold his hand, tightly. "Remember the story," he said, voice hushed by more than just gentleness. "The phoenix never truly went away. New fire sprung from the ashes, and it was reborn, again and again. And the griffons, Steafan - are they gone forever?"  
  
"No!" Steafan said, and jumped in place, flushed with enthusiasm for his favourite topic. "Griffons will be back, and Anders will ride one and so will all the other Grey Wardens and there will be no Blights ever again because griffons will gobble up all the darkspawn and then I'll get to ride one too!" He fell down on his bum, out of breath after his long proclamation.  
  
Quinn smiled, and although Anders saw that sadness weighed on him, there was a glint of hope in his eyes. "That's right, Steafan. Griffons might fly far, over the mountains, but they won't be gone forever."  
  
They left, after Quinn had first made absolutely sure that Ines had everything she needed for the foreseeable future - "really, messere Hawke, all the sovereigns you've given the orphanage could keep these rascals in clean clothes and gruel for decades" - and that all the children had got a hug.  
  
"Quinn, we have to go," Anders said, softly but insistently. "It's almost noon, and we still have to pick up our things from your estate."  
  
Quinn sighed, and gave one more look over his shoulder before following him. He didn't say anything, which worried Anders. By the time they had hoisted their packs on their shoulders, and locked the doors of the estate behind them, he realised the silence would last as long as he let it, because Quinn was somewhere far away, lost in memories. He had always been a little absent-minded, but what had distracted him all day was something specific, and Anders didn't need magic to know what it was: fathers and their children.  
  
\-----------------

They made good time, considering their late start, and after being carefully prompted, Quinn started chatting again about this and that - mostly about birds, because the first part of the journey to Cumberland took them through the Planasene Forest. Anders chuckled to himself, because he had never imagined he might find the words "gold-throat warblers don't usually nest so far in the north" so endearing. He wondered which shade of pink Quinn would turn if he suggested that Quinn gave one of these soliloquies when they were in bed. He'd love to do his best to distract Quinn, but he would probably relent in the end, because he loved listening to him almost as much.  
  
It was obvious Quinn didn't want to talk about anything serious, and Anders didn't truly mind. They stopped when Anders spotted a small brook that led them to a pond, and spent the hottest part of the day basking in the sunlight, cooling their aching feet in the weedy water. Quinn's mabari Genitivi even found a tiny fish that didn't swim fast enough to avoid becoming a midday snack. Quinn's pack was heavier, Anders had noticed it before they left, and wondered about it because he carried most of the food and water. When Quinn stripped down to his shirt, and rolled up his sleeves, Anders could see how out of breath he was, even though he had more bulk on him than Anders did.  
  
"Maker, what did you pack? Not the whole library?"

Quinn pushed his wild tawny hair off his face, and smiled as if to say "wouldn't you like to know", and heat swept through Anders, making him curl up his legs and take a deep, steadying breath.  
  
"No, seriously? I thought you settled on only two books."  
  
Quinn splashed some icy pond water on his face, and spluttered, wiping it on his sleeve. Droplets ran down his face and under his shirt, capturing Anders's attention. "I did. But one of them is a bit on the heavy side, as you can tell, obviously. Between you and me, it's not the most convenient shape, either; I think I have a bruise on my back that perfectly matches its corner. Oh, don't give me that look, love - it's nothing bad. I'll let you have a look when we stop for the night."  
  
Anders welcomed the prattle, but the reason for it escaped him. Quinn obviously hadn't noticed that Anders's interest was more focused on Quinn's damp shirt that clung to his skin than any possible bruises."I could carry it for you, part of the time. If you pass out before we reach an inn, I'll have to carry both you and your pack."  
  
"Ooh, did you hear that, Genitivi? Anders promised to carry me." Quinn laughed as his dog finished his swim and shook himself dry, then promptly jumped back in, splashing water everywhere. "Well, goodness, why didn't I hear of this before? From now on, I demand to be piggybacked everywhere, while I nibble on honeyed teacakes and regale you with my knowledge of woodland birds."  
  
Charming though it was to be teased, Anders knew when he was being led away from the topic. "Quinn. Why did you take the book with you? Charade could have kept it safe, like all your other heavy tomes and scrolls."  
  
For a moment more, Quinn watched his dog frolicking in the water. Then he stood up without a word and went to dig out the tome in question, lifting it with both hands and showing it to Anders.  
  
"'Theory and Practise of Basic Gravitational Magic'?" Anders read. "Haven't you mastered quite a bit more than the basics by now?"  
  
"Well, yes. But... that is the point, exactly. This book was where it started, my Force magic studies, that is - I was ten, I think, ten or eleven." Quinn ran his hand over the cover, fondness giving his face a glow, as if he was looking at a dear old friend. "Not this specific book, of course. I bought this in Kirkwall. I couldn't take any of our books from Lothering with me."  
  
It was becoming clearer why he was both proud to show the book to Anders and nervous about it. Anders covered Quinn's hand with his own, and ran his fingertips over the staff callouses before fitting their hands together. "Your father gave you this book, didn't he? When he started to teach you?"  
  
Quinn's eyes glazed over, and he took a shaky breath, and said nothing at all.  
  
Anders could have kicked himself, then healed the bruise and kicked again, harder. He grasped for words. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, love. But I'm here, when you're ready."  
  
Quinn made a soft, agreeable noise, and turned to brush their lips together in a brief kiss that melted Anders entirely. "Thank you," he whispered against Anders's lips. "For being here."

\-----------------

By the time they reached the inn, the evening was swiftly turning into a restless night. They were close to the coast, following the remnants of the Imperial Highway, and many drunkards filling the common room were not travellers like them but smugglers, pirates and swords-for-hire. Anders saw Quinn pull down the hood of his robes, hiding half his face, and it was probably for the best. They couldn't help attracting attention, not with their staffs and the mabari hound trailing behind them. Anders stuck close to Quinn, ready to deflect an opportunist's knife. The word was out that the Champion of Kirkwall had joined the rebel mages and stepped out of the public eye; someone would pay good money to bring him back. The bloody templars would hunt down even the Champion, he was sure of it.  
  
Quinn asked for a bath, apologising immediately for the late hour, and the old woman behind the counter whose features were set on permanent boredom gave him a long look.  
  
"You didn't see the spring when you walked in, serrah? We've got bath water round the bloody clock in this place. Pull the cork out of the pipe and the tub will fill up in no time. Just for the night, was it?"  
  
Anders saw Quinn open his mouth to explain that they hadn't approached from Cumberland and so hadn't seen the hot spring in question, and grabbed his arm. Quinn looked at him, eyes widening, snapped his mouth shut and paid the woman, who bit his sovereign before accepting it.  
  
Genitivi cut them a nice path through the crowd, but Anders couldn't help giving the rowdy common room one more glance before they retreated to their room. These people were not a match for his and Quinn's magic, but if they surprised them in their sleep... Not to mention that they were trying to avoid drawing attention to themselves. He wondered if they had made a mistake, not spending the night in the forest instead. He vowed to himself that he would sleep with one eye open. It was unlikely the nightmares would let him sleep, anyway. They were fading in intensity, but could still leave him shaking.  
  
The room was cosy enough, the beds and the bathtub taking up most of the space. They piled their packs on the other bed, and Genitivi rolled over on the thick woven mat, clearly finding his place. Quinn approached the tub with cautious curiosity. It was tiled with slate which was cold to the touch at first, but when Quinn figured out how to get the steaming water flowing, the tiles warmed up fast, along with the rest of the room. A servant girl brought them their supper, but only Genitivi attacked the stew with any enthusiasm. Anders was too worried to have more than a mouthful or two, and Quinn kept jumping up to check the water. Neither of them touched the wine bottle, even though they had paid good silver for it.  
  
"Anders?" Quinn asked, touching him. With his other hand, he pulled the twine from his hair and shook it loose. It reached his shoulders, even curling slightly. "How sharp is your knife? Mine looks just about useless. I should've sharpened it before we left, but I plain forgot. I didn't even pack the whetstone, now that I think about it. I don't think I'm quite cut out to survive in the wild, to be honest..."  
  
"I... think my knife's fine, why?"  
  
Quinn gathered his hair in one hand. "Lend it to me, please? I want to cut this off before we take a bath."  
  
Anders caught the hand in his, coaxing it away. "You want to cut your hair? Why?"  
  
"Well, tell me, how many redheads did you see in that crowd? I think it rather loudly proclaims, 'hullo, I'm Fereldan, I genuinely enjoy mutton and I just might be that Kirkwall Champion you're looking for'."  
  
Anders bit his lip to keep from smiling. This was a serious matter, but he couldn't help finding the description amusingly accurate. Quinn _was_ just about as Fereldan as one could get. "Mm. I like your hair, though."  
  
Quinn's jaw slackened and he stared at Anders in honest surprise. "Oh. Thank you," he mumbled around a hesitant smile.  
  
"You could hide it under the hood."  
  
"All summer, though? Besides, even if you - like it, I've always found it rather... troublesome."  
  
He glanced aside, and Anders caught a glimpse of a frown.

"This isn't about hiding from _yourself_ , is it, Quinn?" Anders asked, quietly. "Or me?"  
  
Quinn scratched the side of his nose. It was a familiar tell; he was even more useless at Diamondback as Anders. His already pinkish cheeks darkened to red. "I... can't lie to you, Anders, you know I can't. And I don't like keeping things from you. But this is something that you needn't trouble yourself with, really. You're antsy enough as it is. Don't think I haven't noticed how many times you checked the lock on that door."  
  
Anders never knew when Quinn was truly oblivious to his surroundings, and when he simply appeared to be. "It doesn't hurt to be cautious, love." He swallowed hard at the reminder. "I may not be able to give you a normal life, but I can at least do my utmost to make sure you get to keep whatever life you choose to share with me."  
  
Quinn gave him a look that filled him with warmth, and stepped close, his knees just brushing Anders's. They didn't have much of a height difference, but Quinn had a way of appearing shorter, tilting his head down and looking up at him through his long, light-coloured lashes.  
  
"I suppose I _could_ always turn myself into a cat, if it comes to that."  
  
Anders chuckled, but his breath caught when careful fingers threaded through his hair, pulling it loose. "I could keep you under my coat." He kissed lightly along Quinn's cheekbone, aware of how hot the skin felt under his lips. "Close to my heart."  
  
Quinn made a soft "hah" that sent a shiver through Anders, and slanted his head, and their mouths finally found each other in a deep, unhurried kiss. Anders pulled his lover close, and for a precious moment felt like he was holding the world. Without Quinn and his love for him, what was there? A bitter spirit wrapped around his soul and a war where victory was far from certain. His hold tightened, crushing Quinn's warmth against him.  
  
"I'll tell you," Quinn suddenly blurted out, lips moving against Anders's, "I'll tell you whatever you want to know, my love. I can't -- It's too much to keep inside, and I --"  
  
Anders took a deep breath to control himself, and gave Quinn some space again.  
  
"All right," he said, stroking Quinn's back in an effort to calm him down. "All right. Do you want to sit down, maybe?"  
  
"Maker, yes, as a matter of fact, I'd like that," Quinn said, and flashed a smile, a small blessing. "My knees have turned as wobbly as Wintersend jelly, and I think I'm going to blame your kisses, no offence."  
  
Anders wasn't convinced that it was the sole reason for Quinn's nervousness, but he said nothing, only sat down on the bed and scooted back, making room for Quinn. The bed was actually quite soft, especially with the thick quilt thrown over it.  
  
"Bring the wine," he said, as an afterthought. Who knew, it might help.  
  
"The goblets are a little dirty, though," Quinn said. "I didn't want to say anything, it's perfectly understandable--"  
  
"Just bring the bottle."  
  
For a long moment, they sat on the bed, Quinn's arm resting on Anders's raised knee, and shared the bottle of excellent Tevinter red - who knew how it had ended up in an inn like this - in companionable silence. Then Quinn turned around while giving the bottle to Anders, and asked, "Would you cut my hair now?"  
  
"If you insist." Anders swallowed a mouthful and handed back the bottle, then took his knife from the sheath. It was remarkably difficult to gather all Quinn's hair in one place; locks of it kept escaping his grasp, and in the end, he let them do so. He doubted he could make the result very even, anyway.  
  
"Do you remember your parents?" Quinn asked as the first curls dropped on the quilt.  
  
Anders had to think about it. "Just flashes. Pieces of memory. I had to put them out of my mind, I was told so repeatedly, by the templars. My so-called protectors." Justice threatened to make his blood run cold with righteous anger; he fought down the impulse.  
  
"Teach me how?" Quinn's voice was barely a whisper. "The more I think about it, the more I realise how much I'm... _entwined_ with them. I need to untangle myself, or soon I can't move at all."

Anders felt a twinge of sympathy, and stopped before he cut his finger. He reached out his hand, and Quinn passed him the bottle. "I know you loved them. You speak of them with such fondness. Your mother was a lovely lady, always kind, always dignified. Even though I think she would've preferred it if I was a wealthy, influential daughter of a duke."  
  
"She knew you made me happy. Mother had a way of knowing things like that." Quinn's fingers clenched around Anders's knee. "I - I don't know what my father would have thought of the choices I've made. He knew first hand what the Gallows were like. I promised him I'd protect mother and the twins, no matter what happened. But I don't think - I don't think he had any idea..."  
  
His voice died out. Anders nudged him with the bottle, but he shook his head. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet and even, and he didn't stumble over a word.  
  
"Father was my hero when I was growing up. Oh, you should've heard him when he taught us, Bethany and I - you couldn't help but believe every word he said. I thought he knew everything in Thedas, I did. When we first found out that Beth was a mage, he made me swear on my blood that I'd look after her. On my _blood_ , Anders."  
  
The misery that halted his voice made Anders put down the knife and pull him close. Quinn didn't resist, falling heavily against him, his back to Anders's chest.  
  
"I tried to make him proud of me, even after he... after he was gone. Somehow, I thought he was watching over me, from the Maker's side. But now... I don't know what to do now. I didn't want to find out I never knew him, after all. It's like he's been taken from me, all over again."  
  
Anders kissed the top of his head, desperately wishing he could kiss away all the hurt, mend Quinn's broken heart with gentle magic. He offered him the bottle again while he tidied up the bed, and this time, Quinn took it and almost emptied it.  
  
"He did what he needed to do to keep his family safe. Isn't that what you promised Carver you'd do?"  
  
Quinn made a miserable sound in his throat, and set the bottle down on the floor before turning to face Anders. His newly shorn hair framed his face, curling far more than it had before, no longer long enough to be pulled straight and tied back. His copper eyes burnt with desperation, but for what, Anders didn't know.  
  
"Y-you heard that?"  
  
Anders touched his cheek. "That's what scares you? That you are what you've always strived to be - like your father?"  
  
Quinn squeezed his eyes shut, and nodded. "I thought he was _perfect_ ," he mumbled. "And he's not. He used blood magic, I don't care if it wasn't his own idea - he used it, as if the ends justified the means. He didn't even want me to be, to be like this, let alone Bethany. All his lectures on how magic wasn't a curse, didn't make us any more sinful in the Maker's eyes... Did he _lie_ to us? His own children?" He breathed in, and blinked his reddened eyes open. "Oh, Anders. Is it terrible of me that I can't seem to... find it in me to forgive him?"  
  
Feeling helpless as the painful confession spilt from Quinn's wine-darkened lips, Anders kissed Quinn's forehead and ran his hand through his soft curls. "You forgave me," he said, and found himself whispering as well.  
  
Quinn seemed to find some clarity. "It's... different. I always knew you had your flaws, dear heart. You even warned me, but I... didn't hear you, I suppose. Didn't want to listen." His fingertips touched Anders's lips, then his chin. "Because I knew I loved you, no matter what secrets you kept. I told you, Anders. You've done terrible things for good causes, too, but I can't imagine _living_ without you. And so... I forgive you."  
  
Anders felt both humbled and overcome by affection, a strange and heady combination that sent hot longing through him. "I don't deserve it. Don't deserve _you_. But I'm yours, if you would have me." He cleared his throat. "And... I don't know what your father would have thought of the mage rebellion, either. I've only seen a shadow of his ghost. But I know you're not him, Quinn, you're _you_ , and he would have been proud of you. I don't see how he could not have been."

At first, Quinn said nothing. His lower lip trembled, but then stilled again, and his eyes were wide with vulnerability. He nuzzled close, and buried his face into Anders's shoulder, shifting awkwardly closer to hold him. They took a moment to arrange their legs, until Quinn was sitting practically in Anders's lap. He was heavy, and smelled faintly of red wine, and his curls tickled Anders's nose. It was perfect, Anders thought, dizzy with more than just wine. Absolutely perfect.  
  
"I've never felt so naked," Quinn said, and laughed, in a way that was almost a purr.  
  
Anders ran his palm up his spine, and could feel him shiver. Then Quinn looked up, and their eyes met, and suddenly they were kissing, melting their mouths together in a desperate frenzy. Wild desire burst into flame and burnt hot within Anders. To be out of control was liberating and easy, so he didn't question it, not before he felt Quinn's clever fingers pushing back his coat and his shirt all at once.  
  
"Wait," he gasped, pulling his mouth from Quinn's, head spinning with wine and his lover both. He grasped at the last remnants of his restraint. "Wait, Quinn - Are you sure you're--"  
  
Quinn opened the last buckle, and the heavy coat fell down. His fingers slipped underneath the fabric, skimmed over Anders's skin, and made his stomach flip. His voice was still hushed, still slightly rough from feeling. "I'm sure I want you."  
  
It was a simple statement made into a promise, and it was all Anders needed to hear. The conversation had left them raw and achy; now they needed something simple, something to knit them together. He kissed Quinn again, slower, taking his time to taste and explore. Underneath the wine there was a heady, honeyed taste that was all Quinn, and he chased it with abandon, letting Quinn rid him of his clothes. It didn't take long before he got his turn, and finally he pushed Quinn down onto his back to pull down his small clothes in order to reveal his cock, hardening before Anders's eyes.  
  
Quinn let out a whimper when Anders closed his lips around it and slid down until his nose touched the ginger curls at the root. It was a thrill beyond compare to feel Quinn's cock expanding in his mouth. He moved his head up to taste the head, and let the hunger throbbing in him urge him on. He devoured Quinn slowly, at his leisure, until he felt familiar hands tightening in his hair, giving him a rhythm.  
  
He pulled away when he heard Quinn call his name, a hoarse cry that demanded his attention. His pulse fluttered at the sight of his lover, flushed and writhing before him. When Quinn scrambled to sit up, he followed suit, crawling into his lap, their erections pressing together between their bodies. They kissed almost languidly, but Anders could feel how tensed up they both were, shivering at the prelude to pleasure.  
  
Then Quinn laughed breathily into his mouth, and looked to the side, and Anders followed his gaze, confused.  
  
Genitivi looked back, wagging his tail.  
  
"Shameless dog," Anders scolded. "The least you could do is turn away!"  
  
Quinn was still shaking with laughter, although a blush stole across his cheeks. Wine _did_ tend to make him not only chatty but also giggly, Anders only now recalled. "You're the one who told him he needed to keep an eye on me at _all times_ , my love. He's only being obedient - _dogmatically_ so, I suppose, but still, you can't exactly blame him--"  
  
Anders laughed, too, because chuckles were contagious and he loved Quinn's terrible puns, and kissed the corner of Quinn's mouth, as a reminder. "Oh, yes I can. Now tell your mabari to go sit in the corner while I ride you; doesn't it bother you to have him staring at us like that?"

"Of course it does, silly," Quinn said, still smiling too much to be kissed properly, but his fingers slid cautiously down Anders's cock, and all of a sudden it didn't matter so much. "But he might as well make himself useful before he does the polite thing and gives us a little privacy. Genitivi, my pack, if you'd be so kind?"  
  
The mabari barked, and retrieved the heavy pack, dragging it to the bedside so that Quinn could rummage through it without having to move. That was convenient, Anders had to admit. He distracted himself by kissing Quinn's neck wetly, edging closer to his ear, a weak spot he intended to fully exploit.  
  
Quinn squirmed, and a bolt of lust electrified Anders's spine; he was feeling this, Maker, he was. He forgot all about the nosy hound as he rolled his hips against Quinn, and let the need build up until Quinn stayed him. There was a familiar bottle in his hand; the dog and the pack were no longer within Anders's line of sight.  
  
"Could you - I--" Quinn stammered, then closed his eyes for a moment and tried again, gathering himself. "If you could... prepare yourself? I just, I - I love watching you when you..."  
  
Anders sat up a little more, and kissed the delicious, bumbling lips. "Mmh... Your wish is my command. It's not the best position if you want to see, though."  
  
Quinn bit his lip and braced himself. Anders loved the way his boldness came and went, making him utterly unabashed one moment and shy the next. "Um. As long as I can see your face? You make this _wonderful_ little frown when you concentrate, and your eyes go hazy, and it makes me want you so very badly every time I see it, so if you could, I'll touch you as sweetly as you please--"  
  
"Your touch is always sweet, my love." Anders kissed him again, opening the bottle. There wasn't that much oil left, so he was careful when he poured it into the palm of his hand. He laced their fingers together, letting oil cover Quinn's hand, too. "Give me a hand?"  
  
Quinn's throat worked, and he nodded, his eyes never leaving Anders.  
  
It could have been unnerving, but this audience Anders didn't mind, not at all. He slid a slick finger inside himself, feeling how the muscles immediately clamped down, and willed himself to relax. It wasn't difficult at all to find the right angle to make himself see stars if he wanted, but he stopped just short of brushing the sensitive bundle of nerves; this wasn't about making himself come, not yet. This was for Quinn.  
  
A warm, calloused hand wrapped around his cock, and Anders did his best to not let it distract him, although it knew just how and where to touch him. Anders realised his eyes had slid shut, and opened them again to catch a look of absolute fascination on Quinn's face. Keeping his balance became rather precarious, because when he added another finger, he remembered all over again why he _loved_ this, the feeling of being filled, of having something sliding in and out of his body, and pleasure-shocks ran up the backs of his legs, because he couldn't help himself; he had to reach just a little deeper, curl his fingers just a little...  
  
Dimly, he became aware of a familiar, wet noise, and saw that Quinn was stroking himself with his oil-slick hand, slowly, with controlled movements. Anders bit back the moan that threatened to escape him; he needed to focus. Quinn was already letting go of Anders's shaft in order to pull him closer, and he followed along, but tilted his head to capture the lobe of Quinn's ear between his teeth. It drew a delicious noise out of Quinn, so he tickled the sensitive skin with the tip of his tongue, and when he sucked sharply on the skin just behind the ear, he felt Quinn pulling him frantically down to him. Heat and slick hardness pushed against him, and then entered him as he settled in. He panted shakily against the side of Quinn's neck, feeling whole, so very _whole_ , joined as one with him.

Movement was almost an afterthought, his mouth still tracing teasing patterns on Quinn's ear and neck. He stopped himself from simply wriggling and writhing needily against him, forcing his hips to instead move in slow gliding thrusts, letting Quinn slip almost out of him before grinding down on him again. It wasn't easy like this, but Quinn twitched up to meet him nonetheless, and Anders could feel every subtle change in angle. His hand found his own erection, and squeezed firmly, and he tried to ignore the way it itched to be rubbed hard.  
  
Quinn grasped at him, his shoulder, his arm, his side, as if to draw him impossibly closer, until finally his hand slid down the small of Anders's back to his buttock. He made no attempt to guide Anders's movements, simply held onto him as his muscles tightened and their skin became sweat-slick and hot.  
  
Anders sucked a mark on Quinn's shoulder, and he made a breathy noise of pleasure.  
  
"Oh, _Anders_ , you're so - you're so very - I feel like I'm on fire, all over," he babbled, "How, how can this be so good?"  
  
As much as he loved to hear him, Anders had to kiss him then, and it turned out rather wet and breathy, both of them doing their best to hold on to the connection but losing it in the movement. They moved together now, attuned to one another, and when Quinn ended the kiss because he kept moaning and gasping into it, Anders could see he was hovering on the edge of release, and he wasn't far behind himself.  
  
Quinn tensed up, and stopped moving, holding back so much he trembled, his mouth falling open in a silent cry.  
  
Anders licked off a drop of sweat that rolled down his throat. "Let go, love," he whispered into the skin. "Let go of it all, and come for me..."  
  
And Quinn did, as if all he had been waiting for had been _permission_ , his climax rippling through him. He squirmed helplessly against Anders, muffling moaned, incredulous versions of Anders's name by sucking his own lower lip between his teeth. Anders could feel heat spreading inside him, and the feeling of having Quinn come deep into him was almost enough to bring him over the edge as well. His hand rubbed his cock furiously, and finally tugged his orgasm out of him, so intense it almost ached, and he came hot on his own and Quinn's stomach.  
  
He slumped into Quinn's arms, and they concentrated on catching their breaths while sweat cooled on their skin and little aftershocks made muscles twitch and tighten. Quinn's hand came up to comb back Anders's hair, fingers gently massaging the scalp, and Anders thought he might drown in the sheer bliss of the moment. He could feel Quinn inside him, still half-hard, and knew he wasn't the only one who was still reeling from their love-making.  
  
"Do you think the bath water is entirely cold by now?" Quinn mused aloud.  
  
Anders forced his disjointed thoughts into the right order. "Hmm. I don't know. We could always drain the tub and fill it up again."  
  
Quinn laughed, but Anders more felt than heard it. "That's what I thought, but it does feel a little, well, decadent, to waste perfectly good water like that. Oh, dear. I would _really_ love that bath right now, actually." He shifted, and Anders reluctantly moved off his lap when he indicated he wanted to stretch out his legs. Quinn met his eyes and gave him an apologetic smile.  
  
Anders stroked his fingertips down the side of Quinn's face, and kissed him warmly. "It doesn't matter how decadent it is. You're smiling; that's all I care about." He kissed him again, for good measure. "You're all right?"  
  
"More than." Quinn was practically glowing. "But, I would be even better if I could, um, wash up a bit, and have a nice long soak with you. Let's see about that decadence, then?"  
  
Their hands found one another, and held on tightly.  
  
Anders's heart thumped loudly in his ears. It would never stop amazing him how much feeling there shimmered between them, connecting them on a level even his magic couldn't touch.  
  
"Come on," he said, softly, and tugged Quinn up with him. "I'll wash your hair for you."

The water was lukewarm, but that was perfectly convenient for washing. They took their sweet time, and used half of the cinnamon soap Quinn had brought with him. Washing one another was more than an excuse to touch and be touched; as much as Anders enjoyed it, he also took pride in how well he _knew_ his Quinn, every inch of him familiar to his fingers. With sated bodies and heavy limbs, they discovered each other anew.  
  
Anders soaped up Quinn's hair, as he had promised, and Quinn dove under the surface to rinse it, emerging sputtering and prattling about soap in his mouth and how he didn't even _mind_ , really, it being cinnamon, after all. Anders feasted his eyes on Quinn, whose skin glistened with soapy water. Without the long locks of tawny hair in the way, he could see the lines of the muscles under the flushed, freckled skin of Quinn's shoulders and upper back, a testimony of long hours of practise with the staff. Quinn claimed the Key was perfectly balanced and light to handle, but Anders had tried lifting it and found it as heavy as any mage's staff.  
  
Quinn squirmed a little, and looked at Anders over his shoulder, pushing his wet hair back from his face. It only made it stand up, short as it was now. "Love? Still awake back there?"  
  
Anders smiled, and slid a hand over the smattering of freckles over Quinn's nape. "Yes. Just admiring."  
  
"Oh." Quinn turned fully around, and tucked a kiss on Anders's chin, then another under it. When he pulled back, his eyes were staring like an owl's, and he appeared to just then realise he had hands, fumbling to find a place for them. "Oh. Well, I... Sorry to distract you." The next kiss was pressed on the side of Anders's mouth, a little nervously. "I guess I'm not very good at staying still and being watched."  
  
Or being complimented, more like, Anders thought. He felt a warm wave of affection wash over him, and touched Quinn's jaw, urging him to look up. "That's a shame." He let healing magic flow through his hand, and brushed the pads of his fingers over Quinn's cheek. As he had suspected, some of the redness subsided, not a blush but a burn. Sunlight was merciless on Quinn's skin. "I could watch you forever."  
  
Quinn blinked, eyes still wide. "Even my freckles?"  
  
"Are you kidding me? I love your freckles." Anders gently swept his healing magic over Quinn's other cheek as well, and kissed it. "I had a number of fairly detailed fantasies of kissing each and every one, years before I could bring myself to kiss _any_ part of you."  
  
"Y-you did? I mean, had you?" Quinn closed his eyes and laughed, clearly embarrassed. "I'm sorry! I'm not fishing for compliments, really, I'm not! I'm - well, _gobsmacked_ comes to mind, as does _flabbergasted_ , and a few other words to the effect of, of, no one's ever told me anything of the sort before."  
  
Anders trailed a hand down from Quinn's shoulder, remembering all the places the freckles reached, finding them from memory. "They should have. But perhaps I'm glad I get to be the one to tell you."  
  
He kissed Quinn, softly, lingering, and before he knew it, he had an armful of warm, wet and soap-slippery lover. Some water spilt over the side of the tub, but before Quinn could apologise, or back off, Anders wound his arms, and one leg, around him and held him close.  
  
\-----------------  
  
After draining the tub and filling it up again to properly rinse off the rest of the suds and have a good soak, they decided they had had enough and found the flaxen towels the servant girl had left for them. Once they were dry and warm and comfortable, they slipped under the heavy quilt, and the soft pillows welcomed their weary heads.  
  
Quinn fell asleep almost immediately, snuggled to Anders's side, one hand clasping Anders's arm. Anders preferred to sleep on his stomach, but he couldn't bring himself to move and risk waking him up. Eventually his eyelids grew heavy, and the last thing he heard was Quinn's murmur - even in his sleep, he prattled. If there was a place of sanctuary from Taint dreams, Anders thought, breathing in the scent of cinnamon, surely it had to be here.  
  
He was wrong.

It found him the moment he drifted asleep, the cold dread that haunted his steps. Darkspawn screams echoed off endless corridors of roughly hewn stone, too close to leave him any chance of escape. The worst part was that the more he listened, the more he thought he could make _sense_ of the blood-thirsty clamouring...  
  
Anders woke up with a start, wrenching himself away from the dream. His spine felt like a rod of ice, and for a moment, he was too shaken to even breathe. When, when would this stop? When could he lie down in his lover's arms and sleep through the night?  
  
"No, I don' wan' see," Quinn mumbled into Anders's shoulder. His sleepy murmur sounded far more distressed than usually. He tossed his head from side to side, as if trying to shake something off, sweat glueing his hair to his skin.  
  
It was a new experience to catch _Quinn_ in the middle of a nightmare, and Anders forgot about his own Taint dream, his only concern becoming to wake Quinn up. A gentle shake did nothing, only made Quinn squirm more, his brow furrowing.  
  
"Quinn," Anders called, and brushed the damp hair back from Quinn's dear face. "Quinn, wake up, love. It's me, you're all right. Quinn?"  
  
The copper eyes flew open, unseeing, and a tormented cry brought Quinn's nightmare to a stop. "Father, _no_!"  
  
His father. Of course, what else could it be? Anders gathered him close, and felt how stiff he was, how he trembled. He wasn't sure if he fared much better himself, but Quinn needed him, and that thought gave him focus.  
  
"Anders?" Quinn asked, without looking up. He held onto the other mage with desperation that tugged at Anders's heartstrings. "Oh, that was - oh, what a nightmare. I'm sorry, love, did I - did I wake you?"  
  
"I was already awake," Anders said, and his throat felt thick. He didn't want to talk about it, didn't want to let the fear surface. He stroked his hand through Quinn's hair, breathed him in.  
  
"Y-you mean you..."  
  
"Yeah. Another one." A deep breath didn't chase away the lump of cold dread. "It seems blood calls to us both."  
  
Quinn was silent for a moment, the tremors subsiding, and then pulled back from Anders's hold. He looked remarkably calm for someone who had just been roused from a nightmare, face open and kind in a way that said "would you like to talk about it" even when his mouth didn't move.  
  
"Ties of blood are hard to break," he said, quietly, voice rumbly with patience.  
  
Anders shut his eyes, tightly. He didn't want it to be true. Didn't want to drag darkspawn screams into the bed he shared with his lover.  
  
The warm hand caressing his face made him meet Quinn's eyes again. They were darkened with sympathy. His hand didn't tremble.  
  
"We'll just have to forge ties that last even longer," he suggested in half whisper, and wrapped his fingers around Anders's wrist.  
  
Anders's heart jumped when Quinn pressed his lips against a pulse point. The kiss tingled on the responsive skin, and Anders thought he could feel warmth spreading into his bloodstream, travelling slowly to his extremities.  
  
Quinn looked up, and gave a little smile, melancholy but true. "Come here. Let's find some better dreams together."  
  
Anders managed a hum of agreement, lost for words. His heart beat so loud and strong, beat for Quinn.  
  
They reached out for each other under the quilt, and soon they were so entangled they were a step away from melting into one. Their fingers laced together. Anders buried his face into Quinn's hair, and felt his breath on his skin, and thought about the ties that bound them together, all the strands woven into one, before sleep swept him away.  
  
When he woke up to a room bathing in the warm morning sun, he found himself lying on his stomach. Quinn had rolled over in his sleep as well, the quilt tangled around his legs, and was snoring softly.  
  
Their hands were still entwined.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on the Dragon Age Kinkmeme.


End file.
